Secret Listening

I am pretty sure Mr. H hated my class.  After they graduated and he handed in the first negative evaluation I had ever received, what other obvious answer was there?  Despite all of his cheerfulness and politeness towards me the 2 months of our class, what else was I to think?

I was shocked, but business is business. These are big prison boys, I can’t reach them all.

Then he appeared out of the blue this week.  He asked to speak with me in private. I hadn’t seen him in weeks, but I could tell he was in emotional turmoil.  I smiled and said of course, my door is always open.  I secretly wondered and was upset….this a**hole gave me a bad review and now he needs my help.  Sigh, that is why I am there.  Time to tighten up and continue to be the professional I strive to be.

He is a tough white supremacist.  He is in prison for kidnapping, false imprisonment, and torture. Pause.  What are you thinking…assuming?

A man Mr. H knew brutally raped his wife and left her for dead.  When the court sentenced the man to probation, Mr. H took the law into his own hands.  Ethical? Nope.  But what would you do? What would your loved one do?  Take it to that extreme? Probably not.  But one never knows until it happens to them.

Mr. H looks to the floor. He attempts to speak but his voice cracks.  After being incarcerated for seven long years, his son who had disowned him, flew into town to be here when he gets released next week.  He is ready to accept his dad back into his life.  The night after his son arrived in town, his car was struck by a drunk driver.  He is in critical condition, on a respirator, and in a coma.

I felt my heart breaking for this man standing before me.  All of his pain culminating into one final backhanded slap against what his family has endured the past seven years.  I bit my tongue so I wouldn’t burst into tears.

I sat and listened and reassured him the best I could.  That was what he was seeking.  An ear and an open heart.  This man had been listening all that time in class….and he had hidden it so well behind his tough as nails exterior.  And he got it.  I am here for them.

I let him talk until he had no more to say.  I gave all the encouraging words I could think to share, and then made a suggestion.  Get a pen, sit down, and write.  Write until you have nothing left. Organize your thoughts and feelings, prepare yourself for what is ahead, and let the truth surface.

He asked if the next few days he can attend my classes, just to get away from the drama of the dorm.  To get one more dose of the positive light that comes from my class.  I told him whatever I can do, I will do it.

This morning as scheduled, he came and sat in on my new class.  He listened, he flipped through the book, and he waited.  After everyone filed out of the classroom he came up to my desk.  He said he had good news.  His son was awake, and breathing on his own.  He was coherent and wanted to leave the hospital.  Hallelujah!

He put his closed fist on my book and dropped something covered in tissue.  He told me it was something for me.  To keep in my office, to put in my car, or whatever I wanted to do with it.  He thanked me again.  Then he left.

I was so curious as to what he had left with me, but I waited until I was alone in my office to see. It was beautiful. A handmade prison cross. It had beautiful coloring and clearly had taken hours to make.  It was made most likely from newspaper and floor wax.  These guys are so creative.

The lesson for me, was a nudge from above.  A reminder that no matter how checked out an inmate may seem, don’t give up on them.  I have no idea the impact my message makes, or how far it can reach. It can be a struggle, but it is a challenge I gracefully accept.  An honor I am grateful to have the responsibility to pursue.

Never underestimate the power behind your message.  You never know who might be paying attention.